


Four Years

by Theoroark



Series: Nobody's Fault [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aroace Ana, Gen, Growing Up, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 17:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/pseuds/Theoroark
Summary: Fareeha growing up, and her family growing around her.





	Four Years

**Author's Note:**

> It's Ace Awareness Week, something I was ironically very much not aware of, so here's a fic that's sat in my drafts for ages about aroace Ana.

When Fareeha was six years old, her mother had taken her to the base’s canteen in the evening, when most of the people had cleared out. She snuck her into the kitchen and got her an ice cream sandwich from the freezer. She took her out into the dining area and sat her down at a table in the far corner, away from the few remaining stragglers. She watched Fareeha eat and took a breath.

 

“Habibti,” her mother had said. “There’s something I need to tell you. Your father and I aren’t together anymore.”

 

That didn’t make much sense to Fareeha. She wasn’t sure how they had been together in the first place. She very rarely saw her mother and father in the same room. She very rarely saw her father, period. The two of them would Skype with him often, but that didn’t count as together. What her mother had said made no sense. But the way she said it made Fareeha think it was something bad. She set her ice cream sandwich down. 

 

“Okay,” Fareeha said. She tried to sound brave but her mother’s eyes still widened like they did when Fareeha was doing something foolish. 

 

“It’s completely okay, Fareeha!” her mother said. “It is. Your father and I still like each other very much, and we still love you more than anything in the world. We’ll still call him every day and you’ll still visit him like normal. Nothing’s going to change. Your father and I just realized that we don’t love each other like married people do, or like people who are dating do, so we’re not together now.”

 

Fareeha was not entirely sure what the difference between husbands and wives and fathers and mothers was, and what kind of love that entailed. But she would still get to talk to Sam and still get to go ice fishing with her grandma and that was all she really cared about. She nodded happily and her mother gave her a relieved smile. She watched her finish her ice cream sandwich and then took her to the tiny private room in the barracks they had secured. Fareeha climbed into her sleeping bag and her mother handed her her stuffed dog, kissed her forehead, and turned off the lights. 

 

-

 

When Fareeha was ten years old, Amy Kingston told everyone that she was going to be the flower girl in her mother’s wedding. When Fareeha had asked why her mother was getting married, Amy had rolled her eyes and told her that her mom and dad weren’t together anymore, and that her mom had met someone new. Fareeha had nodded and gone quiet. She turned that over in her mind until she saw her mother that evening. 

 

“Are you going to marry someone?” she asked, when her mother knelt down to hug her. Her mother froze, eyes wide. 

 

“Uh,” she said. Fareeha frowned. Her mother always had answers to her questions. She must have asked wrong. 

 

“Since you’re not with Sam anymore, are you going to meet someone new?” she tried instead. Her mother stood. Her eyes were still wide. 

 

“Fareeha,” she said. “Why are you asking about these things?” When Fareeha bit her lip and looked down, suddenly feeling guilty, she quickly clarified, “I’m not upset. I just want to know.”

 

“Amy Kingston’s mom is marrying someone else,” Fareeha informed her. “And she’s going to be a flower girl. She gets to throw flowers at people. It sounds really fun. So I wanted to know if you were going to do that too.”

 

“Ah,” her mother said. She walked from the doorway and sat down at the kitchen table, and gestured to the chair next to her. Fareeha sat down as well. “That does sound like a lot of fun,” her mother said. “But I’m not marrying anyone else. Sorry, habtiti.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Her mother looked nervous all of a sudden, and Fareeha’s guilt and doubt crept back in. Her mother was never nervous, she must have done something wrong, must have explained it wrong. “I’m something called aroace.”

 

Fareeha tilted her head and attempted to puzzle that out. “Like… ace meaning cool?” she guessed.

 

Her mother laughed. “Well, if you’d like, Fareeha. But not quite. It’s an abbreviation for aromantic asexual.” Fareeha nodded as though that made things any clearer. “It’s something that means a lot of different things to a lot of different people, but for me, it means I’m not interested in dating or marrying anyone.”

 

Fareeha nodded again, now considerably more confident. “Okay,” she said. Her mother sat back and studied her.

 

“Do you have any more questions about it?” Fareeha blinked and thought.

 

“Are you happy being aroace?” she asked after a minute. Her mother did not seem upset about it, but she still felt residual worry from earlier in their conversation. To her relief, her mother smiled and nodded.

 

“I am,” she said. “I wasn’t always, when I was still figuring out who I was. But I’m happy now.”

 

“So you’re okay, being alone?” For a horrible second, her mother’s face dropped. But then the smile was back, softer this time. Her mother scooted her chair closer to hers and put her hands on her shoulders.

 

“Habtiti,” she said. “I’m not alone. I have you and your father, and the best friends in the world. My family might not look like everyone else’s. But I have a family that I love. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

 

-

 

Fareeha spent every winter break with Sam. Her mother teased her, asking her why she was so excited about going to freeze in Canada. But Fareeha had grown to love it. She was good at ice fishing and hockey and okay at skiing. She had two cousins there around her age and she liked Sam’s new wife a lot. And it was the longest single stretch of time she got to see Sam. She looked forward to those two weeks. The cold wasn’t so bad when you knew you were coming home to hot cocoa and a warm blanket.

 

When she was fourteen, Fareeha’s mother was called away on an assignment in Athens the day she was coming back. “I’m sending a driver,” her mother told her as she stood in the Vancouver airport, about to board. “But I’ll be there when you wake up. I promise, habtiti. I love you.”

 

When Fareeha let herself into her mother’s quarters at the Swiss base, it was 11 PM and her mother was still not home. Fareeha was too tired to call her, and she knew it would not change anything anyway. She put her suitcase in her bedroom, brushed her teeth, changed into her pajamas, and went to bed.

 

When she woke up it was still dark out. She turned on her holovid. 5:30 AM. She held her pillow to her face and groaned. She had lived in dozens of different countries and flew almost constantly. It didn’t seem right that she still got jet-lagged.

 

But right or not, she was wide awake. She got up from bed and stumbled into the kitchen.

 

Uncle Gabe was at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and looking at his holovid. He was in a t shirt and boxers. He looked up and smiled broadly when he saw her. “Fareeha! I didn’t think you’d be up so early. How was your trip?” Fareeha stood in the doorway, blinking stupidly. Uncle Gabe waited patiently, his grin only slightly faltering. 

 

“Why’re you here?” she finally managed. 

 

“Well, it was late when your mom and I got back, she and I wanted to talk some more and she knew I’d want to see you anyway–”

 

“Are you sleeping with my mom?” Fareeha interrupted. Uncle Gabe choked on his coffee.

 

“No! I– no, Fareeha, no.” Fareeha inspected him as he coughed and once she had determined that his outburst was solely due to surprise and not fear, she sat down at the table with him. 

 

“Fareeha,” he said once he had composed himself. “Why did you think that?”

 

“I didn’t think that,” she said. “It’s just that’s what happens in the movies, when there’s someone in the kitchen in their pajamas in the morning.”

 

“Oh,” he said. “Well. I guess you’re right.” He looked uncomfortably down at his coffee. “But, Fareeha, your mother told me she told you she was ace.”

 

“Yeah, but she didn’t think she was when she was with Sam, and so she could change her mind again, I guess.”

 

“I don’t think it’s quite like changing her mind,” Uncle Gabe said gently. “And I don’t think she will.” Fareeha nodded and stood up from the table. She grabbed the Cheerios from the cupboard and the milk from the fridge, very aware that Uncle Gabe had more to say, and that she had more she wanted to say to him. 

 

“I didn’t  _ want  _ her to change her mind,” she said, to preempt him. She poured milk into her cereal, tested the levels with her spoon, and poured a bit more.

 

“That’s good,” he said. “All your mother cares about is you being happy.”

 

That wasn’t true, Fareeha thought. Her mother cared about plenty of things other than her being happy, many of them more than her being happy. Her mother cared about missions in Athens more than her being happy. Her mother cared more about protecting the world than her being happy. Her mother cared more about staying out of Canada than her being happy. She wasn’t angry about those things. She wasn’t a child anymore and she wasn’t stupid. She didn’t expect her mother to cater her every action to ensure that she never experienced the slightest twinge of dissatisfaction. Her mother prioritized her happiness in economical, efficient ways, and that seemed sensible to Fareeha. She wasn’t sure why everyone insisted her mother was something she wasn’t.

 

But they did and so she didn’t argue with Uncle Gabe, she just said, “I know,” and carried her bowl of cereal back to the table. He cleared his throat. She stuck the spoon in her mouth.

 

“You know,” he said. “You can try on as many labels as you want, for what gender or sexuality you are. You can date whoever you want.” Fareeha nodded and politely entertained the notion she would ever be interested in anyone who was not a woman. “But if you find one that feels right, you don’t have to change it, just because someone tells you it’s wrong.”

 

Fareeha chewed, swallowed, and said, “Okay.”  

 

“And you know. Being ace doesn’t mean your mother’s alone.”

 

“I know.”

 

“She has you and Sam,” he said. Fareeha nodded. “And she has Jack and I.” Fareeha set down her spoon and looked up at him. He looked down at his coffee. “Your mother is more than my best friend. You and her are the most important things in my life.”

 

Fareeha thought that seemed wrong too. She could go stretches without seeing Uncle Gabe, he was just as devoted to his work as her mother was, and she would bet good money he was still dating Uncle Jack. But Uncle Gabe said it in such a way that made all those objections melt away. Fareeha smiled at him and he smiled back.

 

“At Sam and Ella’s wedding, they said she was part of our family now,” Fareeha said. “So you and Jack, you’re like, officially family now?”

 

Uncle Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. “Well. Nothing that… legally formal… but. I don’t know, Fareeha. Do we feel like family?”

 

“Yeah,” Fareeha said. “You do.” He reached over and hugged her, jostling the cereal out of her spoon. 

 

“It’s good to have you back,” he said. “Tell me all about your trip.”

 

-

 

When Fareeha reached high school, her mother enrolled her in a prestigious French boarding school. Fareeha had gone to many different schools in many different cultures and many different languages. She was practiced at breaking into a social scene, establishing herself in a group, making friends without getting too attached. She was an excellent student. She still hated it.

 

It was just so boring, was the thing. She was used to the constantly shifting nature of the home schooling her mother had relied on in Zurich, since she deemed no local school secure enough for the daughter of Overwatch’s second-in-command. Her teachers varied in style and expertise, her lessons were engaging and tailored specifically to her interests. She had gone to local schools during the Strike Team days, she was not incapable of adapting to classrooms and lectures. But now that she knew something out there worked better for her, she had a new resentment for them.

 

Being out of Zurich was not all bad, of course. For one thing, she could date without her mother bothering her about it.

 

When Fareeha was eighteen, she had a girlfriend named Julie. Julie’s family had a house in Geneva. It was summer and they had been apart for a month and Julie wanted to meet up. Fareeha’s mother was away. She was in Geneva in time to get dinner.

 

After dinner, she and Julie went back to the house, the kind of old-money mansion that still felt alien to Fareeha, despite the fact that she was surrounded by them and had been for a while. Julie took her to her parents’ bar and asked her what she wanted. Fareeha said whiskey, because that felt tough and adult. She put too much ice in the glass and she and Julie sat on the couch and drank and giggled and kissed. 

 

They had gone well past kissing– Fareeha on top of Julie, Julie’s hand up her shirt, Fareeha’s thigh between her legs– when they heard the distant sound of glass shattering. Julie sat up and Fareeha followed. Julie asked “What the hell was that?” and Fareeha did not have time to respond before three Overwatch agents burst into the room, decked out in blue, guns drawn. Julie threw up her hands and Fareeha grimaced and threw her her shirt. Her Uncle Jack walked in, looked at the two of them– Julie struggling to get her head through the shirt’s neckhole, Fareeha’s hair mussed and jeans unbuttoned– and he sighed.

 

“Come on, Fareeha,” he said. He turned and signaled and the agents holstered their weapons. None of them were making eye contact with her. “Let’s go.”

 

Fareeha sat far from everyone else in the drop ship, but Jack still sat down next to her. She fixed her eyes straight ahead. He tilted his head back and sighed.

 

“You scared us all,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen your mother so terrified.” Fareeha’s nostrils flared.

 

“I don’t have to listen to you,” she said. He looked down at her sharply.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You’re not my dad and you’re not dating my mom. You’re barely even her boss. I don’t have to listen to you.” She instantly regretted what she said and she could feel Jack staring at her, but she did not want to apologize to him. 

 

“Our relationship might not follow those molds,” he said slowly. Fareeha closed her eyes. “But your mother is incredibly important to me. And you scared us both tonight. I care about you a lot.”

 

“Don’t bullshit me,” Fareeha snapped. “You don’t actually care about me. You care about my mom. That’s the only reason you’re here.”

 

Jack was silent for a minute. “Okay,” he said finally. “But me caring about your mom means I care about you. And so I care about you. You can parse the motive all you want. But I don’t want you doing something like this again.”

 

Fareeha nodded. Jack got up and left her alone in her corner.

 

The next morning, Fareeha woke up to a text from Julie. “Was that Commander Morrison?” she asked.

 

“Yeah,” Fareeha texted back.

 

“Holy shit. I can’t believe it. Is he pissed at me?”

 

“No.”

 

“Why did he come to get you? Are you two really close or something?”

 

Fareeha stared at the message, set her holovid on her bedside table, and went back to sleep.

 

-

 

When Fareeha was 22, she enlisted in the Egyptian army, and her mother stopped speaking to her almost entirely. She sat in her bunk and watched belligerent press conferences where Jack tried to answer a thousand different questions at once and tense hearings where Gabriel answered none. Her mother was there too, but usually in the background, silent, watching with hawk eyes. As long as her mother did not say anything, Fareeha could bear the news. One time, a cameraman caught Jack putting his arm around her as he left the stage, and there was a brief flurry of speculation about what that meant. Fareeha checked the news a bit less frequently after that.

 

When she graduated boot camp, Uncle Gabe sent her a congratulatory card, a store-bought thing with just his signature added. She turned it over and thought about all the allegations pressed against him– torture, coups, assassinations. She could not help but wonder what her mother thought of him now. She stuffed the card in the bottom of a box under her bed and tried to forget it was there.

 

-

 

When Fareeha was 26, her mother died. 

 

The second she stepped into the mosque, she heard people crying, and so she knew she would not be able to. She stayed near the front of the mosque, the imam running up to her periodically for help running the service, relatives descending on her with wet eyes and comforting words. Angela was in the crowd and Fareeha could tell she would not take her eyes off her, would not uncrease her brow or wipe the worried look from her face. She gave Angela a little wave and let her distract herself with her worry. She dispatched of officiants and mourners and delivery people on a mechanical autopilot. Years later, she found she could barely remember the ceremony. 

 

She remembered a few things. One of them was Jack walking up to her and telling her her mother would be proud of her. She had nodded and when he left, she had marveled at the fact that they had both gotten through that exchange with straight faces. 

 

Another thing she remembered– and this memory stood out to her almost as much as seeing her mother’s grave for the first time and being struck dumb by just how empty it was– was when Gabriel came up to her. She had not seen him much during the ceremony, he delivered one of the eulogies but after that he had seemed to melt away. She thought he had left early. But here he was. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye.

 

“I’m sorry, Fareeha,” he said. “This shouldn’t have happened. It’s unforgivable that it did. But I’ll get you and your mother justice. I promise.”

 

She hugged him in a way that felt more like falling. He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed a circle on her back. She did not cry, she didn’t even feel like she could, but she suddenly felt all the world like a child again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @tacticalgrandma on tumblr/twitter if you want to talk to me there!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and any comments/kudos would mean the world to me <3


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